“Well, and he knew what I was like. And I can’t suppose that he ever expected me to fall down and worship his Bartolozzis, or to go crazy over his old blue china. As for me, to do me justice, I never pretended that I could. So of what use would it be for me to try to do what isn’t natural to me? Isn’t it better that he should follow his bent, and I mine, when neither of us does anything wrong or mischievous, after all?” “It seems a pity,” ventured Rhoda. “Forgive me for saying so, but you wouldn’t have to pretend much to be interested in what interests him.” “Yes, I should. Luckily, we have some pleasures in common. We like the same people. We have both taken a fancy to you, and we are both fond of his late ward, Jack. And we both adore Caryl. Why shouldn’t we be content with the sympathies that we have, and not try to manufacture others?” It was all very cleverly put, Rhoda thought, but she was not convinced. Perhaps Lady Sarah, frank as she seemed, did not expect her to be. At any rate, she suddenly sprang up from her stool, as if tired of the discussion, and flitting across to the piano, seated herself at it, and played a two-step with vigour that caused it to reach the ears of the gentlemen, whom it effectually brought out of the dining-room. The talk at once turned again to the subject of the stolen snuff-boxes. Rhoda told Sir Robert of her discovery of the keys, was sure that they had been replaced in the pocket of her dress during her short absence to speak to him in the study, and insisted on returning them to him, declining to have the custody of them for the future. It was in vain that the baronet protested, that Lady Sarah coaxed, that Jack said she should keep them and lay traps to catch the thief on a later occasion. Nothing would move her from her purpose, and Sir Robert had, with great reluctance, to accept the keys from her. They all had theories to suggest, Jack being loud in support of the suggestion that the theft was the work of one of the men-servants, and Sir Robert being of opinion that it was the work of a woman. For, he said, no suspicion would be excited by the sight of one of the maids coming out of or going into a bedroom, while if a man-servant were to be caught in the neighbourhood of the rooms where he had no business, suspicion would be directed to him at once. The conversation was animated, every one taking a fair share with the exception of Rhoda, whose attitude was rather that of a listener than of a talker. And she was rewarded for her watchfulness by catching a look exchanged between Lady Sarah and Jack Rotherfield, a look after which her old suspicions returned in full force. For in it she saw that there was a perfect understanding between these two over the theft, and that each seemed to be congratulating the other upon a lucky escape. CHAPTER X. THE STOLEN “ROMNEY”